You’re the Fire and the Flood (I’ll Always Feel You in my Blood)

Spread me beneath you
I am soft
I am pliant
I can feel the truth in your fingertips
Your touch speaks volumes
writing and rewriting
what a strange story this is

Kiss me please,
let me feel your hunger pangs

Does it burn within you
the way it scorches me?
I can feel your lust
on the sharp edge
of your teeth

I feel your heart hammering
pounding against my chest
I can taste your need on your tongue
you’ve made me such a mess

love me to pieces
chip away at everything I am
burn me to ashes
and rebuild me again

Please, hurt me
please, wound me
But only if you kiss away my tears

Master, Daddy,
Manipulator of my fears

I’m as Shallow as you are Deep

Imagine for a moment

I am not me.
You are not you.
We are not us.
This is not what this is.

I just want you to imagine it.
I’d love to know your thoughts on it.
I’d never ask.
I don’t really want to know.
That’s just something I said.

But just imagine.

Maybe only one of those things is true. Maybe more.
What do you envision?
What do you see?
Is anything different?
Or is it all just the same?

Even in parallel universes, faraway worlds, lands that time forgot

Are we destined to be this?
Are we destined to be us?
Are you always you?
Am I forever me?

Imagine we’re not.
What could it be?
What could it have been?
What was it almost?

What ripple did the most damage?
What stone changed everything?

If I had done this.
If you had said that.
If we had been… more. than. us.

Just imagine.

If You Were Mine, I Would Live For Your Love Alone, To Kneel at Your Shrine, I Would Give Up All That I Own

A Sinner Sits for Sacred Sunday Service
Singing the liturgical tones of
sexual ardor
I move
to your taciturn tendencies,
exercises in silence;
a sojourn in discipline;
momentary lapse of reality–
how many times
will you make my eyes speak to you?
breathless,
I whisper across the fire,
begging pour le deluge.
tes yeux de glace
precipitate desire,
but
my
eyes
are only for you–
waiting to again make the
carnal sounds of coitus:
a litany of pumping hips
the chorus of animal sounds
guttural,
primal,
as I lick the sweat from the hollow of your
throat.